Guerrero for Gibson: This Titanic Trade Isn’t Sunk Yet

What a monster baseball trade it would be. Pedro Guerrero for Kirk Gibson. Godzilla for King Kong. The kind of men you can only swap for one another, because no dugout is big enough for both of them. Put Pedro and Kirk on the same bench, and Tommy Lasorda would have to lay off noodles for three months, just to be able to squeeze in between them.

They have monster torsos, monster talents and monster conceits, these guys. Guerrero is a homer-hammering hippopotamus who can do everything but field and slide. Gibson is a big galoot who has power of Babe Ruth and the throwing arm of Dr. Ruth. They are both above-average baseball players, and they know it. Their next-door neighbors can drop by anytime they need to borrow a cup of ego.

Somehow or another, the Dodgers got to dropping names with the Detroit Tigers at baseball’s winter meetings, and next thing anybody knew, they were seriously discussing one of the biggest straight-up deals since Harvey Kuenn for Rocky Colavito.

But, the negotiations hit a snag, and that apparently was that.

“The difference is with Kuenn and Colavito, they weren’t going to be free agents a year after you made the deal,” Detroit club president Jim Campbell said Sunday.

For the time being, Campbell said emphatically, the proposed Guerrero-Gibson trade is “absolutely off the table.”

The superpower summit has been called off, in other words.

And that jibes with what Tiger General Manager Bill Lajoie, who is doing nearly all of the ballclub’s bargaining, had to say. Lajoie pronounced the deal dead. Or, at least the next nearest thing to dead.

There are those in the Dodger camp, though, who seem to think this thing can be revived. As soon as some of the complications involving Gibson’s aborted attempt two years ago to become a free agent get straightened out, the super-swap might become a reality.

What does Gibson have to say on the matter?

“I wouldn’t say the L.A. deal is completely dead yet,” the Tiger outfielder said.

Campbell, too, left the door ajar.

“Just because we’re not talking right now, doesn’t mean we couldn’t pick up the conversation later,” he said.

So, you never know. It could happen. Guerrero, the 31-year-old Dodger lifer who hit a ton last season after missing all of the season before, could be off to Motown, where he almost certainly would dent a lot of left-field seats. And Gibson, the 30-year-old Tiger lifer who helped his team win baseball’s meanest division, could be headed for Hollywood, where he would almost certainly break a few hearts.

Each has reason to stay. Each has reason to go.

Exhibit A: Gibson grew up in Michigan and has many friends there. Exhibit B: He could use a change of scenery, having grown tired of living in a goldfish bowl, and having his personal life splashed all over the television and in newspapers.

Exhibit C: Guerrero has come to regard Los Angeles as his home away from his Dominican Republic home, and is a special hero in the Spanish-speaking community. Exhibit D: He might like to play on a winner, and he might like to get away from a certain right-handed hitting teammate who bats behind him, initials M.M.

One other factor for Guerrero. Lasorda speaks fluent Spanish. Sparky Anderson don’t even speak no English.

With those other Tiger sluggers batting around him, Guerrero might very well mash about 40 taters over Detroit’s dinky left-field fence. On the other hand, he might need some time to adjust to American League pitching, which is Breaking Ball City.

Gibson’s biggest knock is an inability to hit left-handers, but that’s a bad rap. He is not Wade Boggs, but he is not Buddy Biancalana, either. He can hit lefties, and has. He also can leg out bunts, and can clobber balls from Chavez Ravine’s home plate halfway to Pasadena.

Both Guerrero and Gibson are dangerous hitters and Iron Glove fielders. There would be no clear advantage as to which team got the best of such a deal until the first season’s statistics were in, and even those numbers could be deceiving. The disappointing player could bounce right back with a big year.

Gibson held off on giving his opinion of the situation until he could give it some thought, ducking reporters “before saying something stupid.” At first, he was a little uptight, but now he has come to accept the situation for what it is, strictly business, and said of a possible trade: “If the phone rings, I’ll answer it.”

He suffers from free-agent syndrome, see. Players want control over their destinies and freedom of choice, but consider the bartering of their services as evidence that their employers don’t love them anymore. It is a fickle, though natural, reaction.

Upon hearing that the Tigers might trade him, Gibson said, “It kind of leaves you numb.” It took him about a two-day cooling-off period before he came to terms with it, realizing that if his free agency had been legitimate in 1985, he would already be nothing more than a memory in Detroit.

“I’m not mad at anybody,” Gibson said. “I’m going to give 100% for whoever I play for, like I always have. If they (the Tigers) feel it’s in their best interests to trade me, that’s their prerogative.”

Quite a time Gibson has had there. He has enjoyed considerable success, capped by his two-homer day in the final game of the 1984 World Series. He also has endured considerable misery, part physical, part psychological, the latter getting so bad that he started spending his off-seasons at a clinic in the Seattle area that specialized in helping individuals pacify their temperament.

The body of this 6-foot 3-inch, 215-pound former Michigan State football player has undergone great stress. He had a pin placed in his left wrist in 1980. He missed nearly 100 games in 1982 with a sore knee, strained calf, sprained wrist and stomach distress. He missed 10 days of 1983 with a knee injury. He even missed a week’s worth of games in 1985 because he was bitten by his dog.

He is unlucky, however, not fragile. Gibson is a tough customer. One day Tim Birtsas hit him in the mouth with a pitch, and 17 stitches were required to close the cut. Next day, Gibson was in the lineup.

The worst part for the local hero has been the spotlight, which has been more like a bulb in an interrogation cell. Gossip columnists never left Gibson alone in Detroit, alleging everything from the rude treatment of a mentally retarded autograph seeker to reports that he and a teammate were dating topless-dancer sisters.

Gibson’s private life and public image became such that one summer a celebrated California public-relations firm took him on as a client and soon was sending out 8X10 glossies of Gibson accompanying announcements that he would be conducting weekly bull sessions with local children. Gibson also got fixed up with one of the agency’s Hollywood starlets, and a brief meeting between them was soon being reported as a flaming romance.

The attention isn’t so outrageous these days, but Gibson hasn’t forgotten what it was like. If he gets traded, he says, it probably would disappoint the gossip mongers in Detroit, who “wouldn’t have anybody to rag on anymore.”

Then again, they might have Pedro Guerrero.